


Bubbles and Mistletoe: A Tale of Accidental Meddling

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 05:37:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: It all started with a bottle of the wrong bubble bath, and then their lives changed forever...<br/>Warnings: Meddling!George, fluff, angst, frottage, swearing, brief elements of creature!fic but there's nothing funny going on, I promise! Mentioned past Ron/Hermione, Harry/Ginny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Have you seen Ron?" Harry asked, throwing himself down at the Gryffindor table. He swung his legs over the bench and stared at the food-laden tureens and platters for dinner.  
  
"No, why?" Hermione asked, not looking away from her book, which balanced in one hand, whilst she fed herself from her fork with the other.  
  
"He didn't turn up to any of our lessons today..." Harry frowned at a beautiful steak and kidney pie. "He never misses pie night."  
  
Hermione finally looked at him over the top of her Arithmancy tome and raised her eyebrows.  
  
"Maybe he's unwell... you know he hasn't been... good, this year."  
  
She blushed slightly and looked down at her plate. None of them tended to mention the issues they'd had since rejoining the real world after the war, which was entirely ridiculous, but then they knew that too.  
  
"Perhaps he's in bed?" Hermione suggested, clearly forcing herself to smile and look on the bright side. "Have you looked?"  
"No," Harry confessed. "I just thought I'd ask you because you..."  
"Because I what?" Hermione stared at him.  
  
Harry licked his lips and thought about how to put it.  
  
"Well... I thought you and Ron were... sort of..."  
"Together?" she finished for him coolly.  
  
Harry nodded meekly and looked down at his empty, waiting plate.  
  
"Harry, I think we both know that it's not really like that. Not any more. Just like it's not like that for you and Ginny any more."  
"Hey," Harry said defensively. "Things are great between Ginny and me."  
"That's not what she says." Hermione's brown eyes settled back on the text of her book and she speared another forkful of jacket potato on her fork.  
"What's she being saying?" Harry felt his face flaming with colour.  
  
For something to do he grabbed the handle of the spoon in the nearest bowl of mash and slopped a dollop on his plate. The metal-on-china made an awful racket and sent a shiver rocketing down his spine.  
  
"Just that she's thinking of breaking things off."  
"Since when? And why didn't you tell me before?" Harry demanded.  
"And why didn't you tell me when Ron told you that he thought that we were drifting apart?"  
  
Caught out, Harry held his breath and stared at his mash.  
  
"Because I didn't think you should hear that from me."  
"Quite," Hermione said, and slapped her book shut. She set it neatly down by her spoon. "Harry... we've all learnt that this year after the war is almost as hard as the one before it. I don't think... I don't suppose these relationships were ever supposed to work, do you?"  
"Yes," Harry muttered. "Or, I wanted them to."  
"I did too. I love Ron. I love him so much it hurts, Harry. Probably a lot like you love Ginny."  
"But neither of the relationships are working..."  
"No."  
  
Harry sighed and slumped down to put his elbows on the table.  
  
"This is shit." He hated the tightness of his throat. "I mean... just thought that once the bastard was dead it was going to be so much better?"  
"I think we all did."  
"So it's definitely going to end?" Harry asked, shovelling a forkful of mash into his mouth.  
"I think so. She's just waiting for the right time. Not that there ever is one. I've been waiting for the right time with Ron myself, even though I both think we really know its over... but I think it needs to be said. There needs to be a line."  
"You'll break his heart."  
  
Harry didn't know where that had come from, but he looked up at Hermione and offered her a supportive grimace.  
  
"I know. Maybe it'll break mine too."  
"I'm not hungry," Harry announced, pushing his plate away.  
"I know," Hermione offered. "You don't look very well yourself, Harry. And a bit greasy, too, if you don't mind me saying."  
"Didn't have a shower after Quidditch. Should have."  
"Did Ron not turn up for Quidditch, then?" Hermione asked.  
"Nope."  
"That _is_ bad."  
"I know."  
"Well, go and check the dormitory." She instructed, narrowing her eyes at him. "But maybe stop in the Prefect's bathroom on the way? You'll _actually_ make him ill if you turn up smelling like that."  
  
Harry laughed tiredly and got back to his feet, picking up his bag from where it had fallen on the floor. He rolled his neck. He actually thought the suggestion of the Prefect's Bathroom a good one, because he was aching all over -which he'd only realised that second- and he most definitely needed a wash. Wherever Ron was, Harry hoped he could wait another hour to talk through whatever was wrong with him.  
  
"I'll see you tomorrow?" Harry said, throwing his bag over his shoulder and turning to Hermione. He started when he saw that her eyes were glistening. "Oh, Hermione-"  
"Don't!" She snapped, shaking her head, as if to banish the tears. "Life is life, Harry, we have to get on with it."  
  
Knowing that it was best to back off, Harry nodded. "You know where to find me if you want me."  
"Yes, naked in the Prefect's Bathroom... I doubt I'll be visiting." She smiled at him.  
  
Shaking his head, Harry turned away and began to walk towards the doors of the Great Hall. Around him, students were chatting, the lazy chatter of students heading towards their Christmas holiday, where lessons seemed far less important than the upcoming festivity. Harry was determinedly not thinking about Christmas, about all the faces that would be missing from around the Christmas table and not there to receive any presents or eat any mince pies.  
  
Angry with himself for even sliding towards the topic, Harry clenched his fingers into a fist and shoved it into the pocket of his robes as he passed out into the Entrance Hall. He began to climb, letting the sensation of heading higher through the ancient, recently-restored building numb him nicely from the legs up. Despite his fitness, he became out of breath on the second floor and paused for a moment to catch the eye of a pretty girl in a portrait, where she was pouring wine on an elaborately laid out table.  
  
"Evening, Sir." She bobbed a curtsey to him, smiled, and her cheeks went pink.  
"Hi." Harry smiled at her, enjoying how she blushed even harder.  
  
When he had decided that he'd tormented her enough, Harry carried on along his way and found that the thought of a long, hot bath was appealing more and more the nearer he got to the Prefect's Bathroom. He wondered which scented tap to pick, and whether he was in a fresh mood or a feminine mood. Either way, he thought, as he tapped his wand against the door of the bathroom, he would be satisfied after a long soak. His only company might have been Moaning Myrtle, an overly-flirty mermaid, and his thoughts, but he thought he could handle it.  
  
He chucked his school bag on the floor and kicked the door shut behind him, growing more and more desperate to sink into comforting water.  
  
"Sorry, there's someone- oh! Harry!"  
  
Harry looked up and saw Ron in the water, his skin pink and the tips of his hair dampened by either sweat or water: hair which was longer than Harry remembered seeing it the day before.  
  
"Have you done something to your hair?" He asked, confused. Ron's hair was so long that it was almost past his freckled shoulders.  
"No!" Ron protested. "I mean, something's... going on, but it wasn't me! I didn't do it!"  
"Then who did?" Harry asked.  
  
He was surprised by the desperate whimper which broke out of Ron's mouth and the way his friend's hands hit the water with frustration. A wave broke out across the surface of the bath, which on consideration Harry thought was overly bubbly. He looked more closely at Ron.  
  
"Are you alright, mate?"  
"No!"  
"What's the matter?"  
"Nothing."  
"Doesn't sound like nothing?"  
"Well it's nothing!" Ron snapped, turning away from him.  
  
Growing annoyed, Harry pulled open the buttons of his robes and yanked them apart, working his shoulders free and stepping out of them. He let them land on the floor next to his bag. He toed out of his shoes.  
  
"Well, if it's nothing, and you don't want to tell me where you've been all day, then could you kindly fuck off so I can have a bath, please?"  
"I can't," Ron answered, automatically.  
"What?"  
"I can't get out," Ron said.  
"Have you lost the use of your bloody legs?" Harry cried, forcing his t-shirt off over his head.  
  
He thought he heard what might have been a soft 'yes' from Ron, but decided he couldn't possibly have said that, because there was no way that Ron could have lost the use of his legs.  
  
"Seriously, Ron, I'm fucking knackered. Hard Quidditch practice. Which, by the way, you missed."  
"Because I was in here!"  
"What, all day?" Harry stared at Ron's back. "And last night, because you weren't in the dorm either?"  
  
Ron nodded somewhat desperately and looked over his shoulder at Harry.  
  
"What the hell is going on?" Harry asked. "You must be beyond prune."  
"I would be, if I had toes." Ron moaned.  
"Look, I appreciate that you're trying to be funny, but I'm just not getting it, alright? I'm tired, being the boy bloody wonder hasn't got me off of Transfiguration homework requirements and I want to go to bed, alright? Stop pissing about and let me in the bath."  
"Harry, I'm telling you, I can't!"  
  
Crying out with anger, Harry gesticulated at the air. "Merlin, Ron, I've just learnt that my fucking love life is about to come crashing down around my ears, which, by the way, so is yours, and now you're being a total twat as well!" He aimed a kick at the floor. "What the fuck is wrong with everybody!?"  
"THIS!" Ron bellowed back, his face contorted with anger.  
  
Harry stepped backwards as the small roar of the water leaving Ron's body echoed across the bathroom; lean, sinewy arms heaved Ron's frame out of the bath to sit on the side. Harry felt jealousy spike at the nicely forming muscles on his best friend's chest and belly and then it was all shattered by horror-fascination which overwhelmed him.  
  
Shortly below Ron's navel, under about two inches of a line of downy red hair there was a sharp descent into green scales. Where Ron's legs should have been there was the body of a mermaid -but not the type of mermaid that Harry knew to be true, however: it was the sort of beatific tail which the lady on the stained glass window of the bathroom had and the sort that he could remember the girls in primary school drawing during art lessons.  
  
"You're... a mermaid?" Harry breathed, his jaw unwilling to close from the shock. "Like... her..." he pointed rudely at the stained glass window and continued staring at Ron.  
"I know!" the redhead cried, his distress plainly showing on his face.  
"And you've been like this since last night? What happened? Did someone do this to you?"  
"Bloody George."  
"George?" Harry asked in surprise. "George, I-don't-leave-my-flat George? How?"  
"Or maybe it was Ghost-Fred disguised as George to fucking trick me..." Ron shook his head and then slipped back into the water.  
"So what exactly happened?"  
  
Harry edged closer to the bath and almost asked Ron to sit back on the side of it again so that he could have a better look at his tail.  
  
"It was a Wonder Witch thing... bubble bath... you know, the one that makes the air smell like your favourite smell?"  
"Why were you using that when you have all the bubble bath in the world right under your nose?" Harry gestured to the rows of taps lining the bath.  
"Because I wanted to smell... well, the smell," Ron said defensively. "But the arsehole must have swapped it for a laugh."  
"It must be a new thing!" Harry said, stepping over to where the bottle sat, looking harmless. He unscrewed the lid and put it to his nose and inhaled. The thick richness of treacle tart washed over him. "It smells just like the other one does."  
"How would you know?" Ron asked, smirking in spite of himself.  
"I just do," Harry muttered, and put the bottle back down. "So... you've been in there all night because..."  
"I can't walk," Ron confirmed.  
"You couldn't slither?" Harry frowned. "Get to your wand that way?"  
"And what the hell would I have done with it when I got it? I don't even know if magic will work on this!"  
  
Harry could hear from the slight shake of Ron's tone that he was close to cracking, but found he couldn't help his reaction. He jammed his lips together and tried to keep from laughing even though he knew he was a lost cause. His laughter was a bark across the tiled room, loud and ungraceful, and he clapped his hand over his mouth.  
  
"You bastard," Ron breathed, gaping at him.  
"I'm... sorry...." Harry choked. "I know it's not funny... but..." he bent over and clutched his side. "It so is!"  
"Do you want to get in this bath, Harry? Because I'm pretty sure I could wrestle you in, then you could be a mermaid too. Merman. Whatever. Just help me!"  
"What the hell do you want me to do?" Harry giggled. "I've got no idea. Finite incantatem? We're going to need-"  
"If you say Hermione I swear to Merlin, Mordred, Morgana and the whole fucking Camelot family that you won't walk out of here alive!"  
"Hermione," Harry confirmed, and burst into sniggers again.  
"I hate you," Ron said weakly, and slumped against the side of the bath.  
  
He remained silent whilst Harry carried on laughing.  
  
"Hey, what was that you said about my love life?" Ron asked, head snapping up. "What's going on?"  
  
Harry let his laugh peter into a sigh; he groaned slightly as he eased into a sitting position. He crossed his legs under him and leant an elbow on his knee to prop up his chin.  
  
"Apparently your sister is going to break up with me. And, _apparently_ , Hermione is going to break up with you, too."  
  
When Ron said nothing, Harry felt more than discomfited. He thought he would at least be able to depend on Ron going up the wall for him, even if he didn't have the energy to do so himself. All Ron did, however, was to sigh and reach up and rub at his nose.  
  
"Well, can't say that's a surprise. Can't blame her, not been the best of boyfriends, have I?"  
"Yeah, but come on, there's... it’s not as if this year has been easy, has it?"  
"No excuse, mate."  
"You just like blaming yourself for everything," Harry muttered.  
"Taken over from you."  
  
Harry met his eye and sighed.  
  
"What are we going to do with you, then?"  
"I don't know. But it's really weird and... I really want to wee!"  
"You can't...?"  
"Well if you can figure out where my dick is, be my guess. How the hell do they breed?"  
"Is it hidden?"  
"Harry, please."  
"Alright, sorry."  
"Just help me... I need you to help me, Harry. Just... try your magic."  
"Well, alright... but I really think we're going to need somebody else for this... I could try and Transfigure you back but that would mean me knowing what you... er, looked like, beforehand, if you see what I mean."  
"You've seen me in the buff hundreds of times," Ron scoffed. "C'mon, Harry. Please. If you do one thing for me, ever again, just make it so I can have a wee."  
"Well, why don't you just try... and see where it comes out?"  
"I'm in the bath!"  
"Don't tell me you've never pissed in the bath!" Harry snorted. "I've seen you piss in the shower so I just won't believe you!"  
  
Ron moaned and slipped under the water. Harry waited for him to resurface. When he did, his hair was plastered to his head in a flowing waterfall.  
  
"I like the change in your hair," he offered, looking for a positive. "Suits you."  
"Shut up, Harry," Ron growled. "Now, get your fucking wand and try some spells. Please!"  
  
  
 *******  
  
  
Harry dropped his wand, fingers sore from gripping it constantly from near on an hour. He had tried everything he could think of, including turning the scales of Ron's tail different alternating bright colours (Gryffindor red and gold had been his favourite), and Ron was still slumped against the edge of the bath, looking miserable.  
  
"Mate, I don't think we're going to get anywhere."  
"Nooo," Ron moaned. "You have to help me!"  
"We need outside help."  
"I'll be a bloody laughing stock. Is that what you want, Harry?"  
"It only has to be someone else that we trust, a teacher, or Hermione."  
"I'm not going to let Hermione see me like this if she's planning on dumping me next week."  
"You don't know that... you might be able to talk things through with her."  
"And what if I don't want to?"  
"Of course you want to, you're Ron, you're madly in love with her and you always have been."  
"Well, maybe I'm not any more."  
  
Harry felt the thrust fail in his broomstick and he sighed. "Look, I know you want to get out of here as much as I do. I don't even want a bath any more, and I really wanted a bath, because today has been shit."  
"I'm so tired..." Ron breathed. "I haven't slept in... hours."  
  
What had been funny an hour before had quickly rescinded to pity, Harry had found. He made an apologetic face and reached up to rub the back of his neck.  
  
"I think the best way to do this is to get you out of the water and... I don't know, I'll disillusion you, charm you weightless, and then carry you up to McGonagall's office."  
"Harry... please don't do this to me..." Ron begged. "It's bad enough as it is. Nobody in this school likes me and this'll just make it worse."  
"I like you," Harry said, stung by Ron's pessimism.  
"Yeah, but you have to like me, I nearly died because of you."  
"Oh, funny, you've changed your tune... it used to be that you were nearly dying for the good of wizard kind... now it's my fucking fault."  
"Oh shut up, Harry, we both know I'd walk to the ends of the sodding earth for you if you asked."  
  
With that, Ron heaved himself up onto the side of the bath and sat there, allowing his long, impressive tail to dangle in the water. Low candlelight washed over his damp upper half and, with his hair beginning to dry out again, Harry was struck by the sheer handsomeness of his best friend.  
  
He was surprised to find his throat dry as he tried to speak. "D'you want a drink? Or some chocolate? I think there's a bar in my bag."  
"Nah, not hungry."  
"You're never not hungry."  
"Would _you_ be hungry if you'd been stuck like this all day and night?" Ron asked hotly.  
"I might want some fish," Harry said fairly.  
  
Ron sucked in a huge mouthful of air and clearly used it to calm himself. When he spoke, his eyes were closed and his jaw was clenched. "I would really like to thump you one right now, Harry."  
"I know."  
  
Harry walked around the bath for the first time and approached Ron from behind.  
  
"Come on, Ron, let's get you out of here and on the way to being a human again."  
"What do you think merpeople eat?" Ron asked lazily, not protesting as Harry gripped his ribs and prepared to hoist him backwards.  
"Well, if they can't pee or crap then maybe they don't."  
"Ew," Ron muttered.  
  
Harry snorted. He tugged at Ron's body but his weight was immense. "Good thing there's no fucking singing crab around... this night really would be mental then."  
"What?"  
"Oh... sorry... Muggle thing. Cartoon film... called The Little Mermaid. She lives under the sea and has all her fishy, crustacean friends and... well, they sing a hell of a lot. She falls in love with a human."  
"And is she really little then?" Ron asked.  
"No, it's... more of a metaphorical title." Harry blinked, wondering how they had got there. "Kid's film. You'd hate it. Too happy."  
"You lost me at the singing crab," Ron admitted.  
"The crab's pretty cool."  
"Harry, I wish you'd had a proper childhood." Ron sighed. "Learnt the things that I learnt... and not been forced to watch weird shit with crabs and mermaids and what I can only presume is a man who likes sex with mermaids?"  
  
Harry laughed and gripped Ron's ribs tight. "Ready? One, two, three..."  
  
He groaned as he heaved, sliding Ron's body backwards over the tiled floor of the bathroom. Water pooled rapidly over them and Harry was glad he'd put his boots on and not his holey trainers that morning. Ron shivered at the touch of the icy tiles and Harry felt a thump of sympathy in his chest.  
  
"I'll get you a towel for your shoulders, might help a bit."  
  
He turned away, heading towards the fluffy stack of towels on a wooden bench against the wall.  
  
"OH FUCK ME SIDEWAYS!"  
  
Ron's shout made him jump out of his skin and Harry spun round: he saw Ron exactly where he had left him, but his beautiful tail was gone, and his normal, skinny, freckly, red-hair-peppered legs were back, with attached long feet.  
  
"You mean..." Harry said slowly, stepping back to him, looking down with dawning realisation.  
"It was just while I was in the fucking water!" Ron cried, slamming his head back against the wall so hard that Harry thought he heard his teeth rattle. "Unbelievable! I'm _such_ a dickhead!"  
  
As the bathroom was so vaulted and tiled, it was very easy to hear in Ron's voice that his words went beyond anger; Harry's suspicions were confirmed when he looked up to see redhead's face covered in blotches and his eyes oddly bright.  
  
"I can't believe it," Ron howled. "Why didn't I think of just GETTING OUT OF THE BATH!?"  
"Ron, come on," Harry begged. "You thought you were stuck like that. You weren't going to slither across the floor, were you? Don't be daft. It's not your fault."  
"Yes it is," Ron said forcefully. "Like everything is these days. Hermione's going to break up with me. I'm doing really badly at everything, even in those shitty counselling sessions they're making us have. I go in and I sit there like a troll and don't have anything to say. I can't even answer direct questions."  
  
"Look, I think you just need to go to bed," Harry said, trying to sound soothing in the way that he had heard Hermione calm Ron down when he was in a temper or upset. "Everything will look better in the morning."  
"Or it could look ten times worse."  
"Yeah, well..." Harry struggled for something to say.  
  
Ron made to move past him but Harry put his arm out, allowing it to connect to Ron's belly and stop him in his tracks. Locking his elbow, he curled his fingers around Ron's waist and held on to him.  
  
"Harry, I'm naked," Ron said bluntly. "Whatever mushy mate shit you're going for, I'm starkers, so..."  
Harry didn't know what drove him, but he ignored Ron's protest and pulled his friend into a strangle-hold hug. Ron smelt of bubble bath and his usual scent; perfect, like an old jumper which felt just right.  
  
"Harry, are you sniffing me?" Ron muttered. "What's gotten into you?"  
  
The truth was that Harry didn't know. Ron's scent was almost buttery in the air and it was urging him to want to smell more, to pull Ron close and shove his face in his throat and inhale a great big drag of _Ron_. He knew he was too tired to be upright when he found himself leaning dangerously close to the said neck, his lips only an inch away, and they wanted to kiss.  
  
 _You've finally gone mental._  
  
"I'm cold," Ron said, after a while. "And so are you. We should go to bed and put a line under today."  
"Shit day," Harry commented.  
"Uh-huh..."  
  
Ron still hadn't moved out of his hold and Harry wondered why, when the man was naked and clearly uncomfortable.  
  
"Ron... do you..."  
"What?"  
"Never mind."  
  
Harry knew it was going to happen before it happened, but he couldn't stop it. He turned his cheek into Ron's throat and pressed a gentle kiss there, closing his eyes and waiting for the storm to blow up around him.  
  
"H-Harry?" Ron whispered. "What was that?"  
"I don't know."  
"Right."  
  
Harry stood still as Ron pulled away, his face confused.  
  
"Let's just go to bed, yeah?" Ron asked. "Not with each other."  
  
He blushed with his blurted words.  
  
"Bed sounds great."  
  
Turning away, Harry wanted to die from the shame. He picked up his bag and waited for Ron to dress.  
  
  
 *******  
  
  
After a sleepless night, tossing and turning and thinking about what a complete idiot he was, Harry sat at the Gryffindor table trying to wake up enough to eat. He'd finally fallen asleep at around four only to be woken at seven by his alarm spell.  
  
Three hours hardly seemed enough to face his upcoming day of lessons. He really was too old for it, Harry thought, as he reached for another slice of toast and began to nibble on it.  
  
"Hey." Ron's voice was low and subdued as he threw himself down opposite Harry. He selected toast from the same pile that Harry had and began to eat it in the same disinterested manner. "Good night?"  
"Shit," Harry confessed, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.  
"I didn't get much sleep either... and I'm shattered." Ron stared at him whilst he ate his toast. "If I'd've known you were awake I would have come over to your bed."  
  
Harry was more than alarmed by the way that his heart leapt at Ron's suggestion.  
  
"I can't wait until we break up for Christmas," Ron moaned, pulling a jug of orange juice towards him. "And then I'll actually be able to sleep in past eight in the morning."  
"I think you got spoilt by all the camping," Harry mused, remembering how, on days when they didn't plan to move on and when they weren't on watch, they had spent a great deal of the Horcrux hunt asleep. "And all the time we spent asleep."  
"Bunk bed was bloody hard though... and my sleeping bag was pretty rank after a while."  
"That's because you kept farting in it," Harry reminded him.  
"Vicious lies." Ron yawned. "Morning, 'Mione."  
  
Harry looked up at her as she approached, her hair slightly wild from a night of sleep and her eyes puffy from the same. She sat down next to Ron and looked between them.  
  
"So, you found him, then?" She asked conversationally.  
"Yeah. You were right, he was in bed asleep. Unwell."  
"Do you feel better?"  
"Not really." Ron shrugged. "Harry told me you were going to break up with me, so I've been up half the night trying to decide how to tell you that I think that's a good idea."  
  
Ugly silence began to roar in the space between them. Hermione threw Harry a murderous glance and then turned to Ron.  
  
"I'm sorry that you didn't hear it from me first, Ron, you must think I'm awful."  
"No, I don't." Ron shrugged again. "I think you're honest. And let's face it, it's just easier if we're honest."  
"And you're not upset?"  
  
Harry stared intently at his plate. He knew from the sound of her tone that Hermione was upset that Ron _wasn't_ upset. He didn't want to be caught in the middle of a Weasley-Granger shouting match –his head hurt too much to cope with even the prospect so early in the morning. He shifted awkwardly in his seat and made to get up.  
  
"Sit down, Harry," Hermione said, her voice stern. "Whilst you can no longer keep a secret, there's no need to flounce off."  
"I was just trying to give you some privacy," Harry muttered.  
"Rather late for that, don't you think?"  
"I'm sorry."  
"You should be."  
  
Hermione said nothing else as she scooped some scrambled eggs and bacon onto her plate. Harry looked at Ron and caught him staring back. Harry offered him an encouraging smile, but Ron did not return it. A bitter taste in his mouth, Harry reached for his glass of pumpkin juice and swigged at it. He'd spent the entire night wondering what had made him kiss Ron's neck like he had and why he had been content to hold onto him when he was naked for so long.  
  
"Whilst we're confessing shit," Ron started, and then stopped to clear his throat. "I'm not coming back after Christmas. I'm going to follow my older brothers' examples and become a Hogwarts drop-out."  
  
Harry stared at him. "What?" he gasped, finally, when he could make his brain work. "You can't."  
"You absolutely can't!" Hermione said in horror. "What'll you do? You'll have no qualifications?"  
"Get a dead-end job in the Ministry and live my life in peace." Ron looked down at the table. "Help George. I dunno. But I know one thing and that's that being here isn't doing me any good at all."  
"Have you talked to your parents about this?" Hermione asked.  
"No I bloody haven't!" Ron exclaimed. "And neither of you will either. I'll tell them at Christmas and by then it'll be too late, the papers will have been signed. I already know how to live and do magic and get by. I don't need a bit of paper to tell me I can do all that when it’s clear that I can."  
  
Harry was too tired to contemplate the rest of the school year without one of the only two people who made it bearable in the first place.  
  
"Who's next then?" Ron asked grimly. "Hermione, hiding any dark secrets you want to share? Harry?"  
  
 _I want to kiss you again._  
  
"Nothing," Harry said firmly, and reached for another piece of toast.  
  
  
 *******  
  
  
His boots full of snow, Harry pushed open the door to The Three Broomsticks looking forward to a hot Butterbeer and a sit down. His arms ached from carrying his Christmas shopping and his legs ached from tramping over the powdery, difficult snow all afternoon. He could have left his shopping until they were out of school, but something didn't quite seem right about that. Harry deposited his bags on a table by the wall and headed up to the bar, pulling off his gloves as he went.  
  
"Hello my darling," Madam Rosmerta beamed at him. "What can I get for you? A Butterbeer or two?"  
  
She nodded over his shoulder and Harry turned to see Ron just having fallen through the door, also carrying bags.  
  
"Get us a drink, mate!" Ron called, heading for the table Harry had picked out.  
"Two, then," Harry said, raising his eyebrows in despair.  
  
He waited whilst the drinks were poured, paid, and then made his way back to the table, where Ron had stripped off his coat, hat, gloves and scarf and was sitting with a reddened nose. Harry's stomach tightened as he looked at him, glowing in the light from the massive open fire at the end of the room, a smile lighting up his face.  
  
Since he had told them his plans not to return, Ron had been noticeably happier. There was an easier gait to his stride and his shoulders were somewhat broader. Harry knew him well enough to guess that the secret had been weighing him down.  
  
"Here you go, maybe the seven millionth drink you'll owe me?" Harry suggested, putting one of the mugs down in front of Ron. "Bottoms up and all that."  
  
Ron toasted him and grinned as he drank; some foam clung to his upper lip. Harry found himself wanting to lick it off.  
  
"Harry, you're being weird again," Ron said quietly, setting down his mug. "You've been weird for a while now, ever since that night in the bathroom."  
  
Harry blinked. He didn't know when Ron had suddenly become so forthright; the Ron he was used to was bumbling and awkward. He drank a mouthful of Butterbeer and thought about how to answer.  
  
"Is it because you kissed me?" Ron asked, his voice dropping to almost a whisper.  
"What if it was?" Harry murmured back.  
  
Ron's eyes settled on him and stared for a while. Harry shifted under their gaze.  
  
"Then... I'd... maybe we could... oh, shit."  
  
They were interrupted by the loud calls of their fellow room mates. Harry lost his pint of Butterbeer to Seamus and Dean dragged three stools over so that they might join their table.  
  
Their private conversation was lost to friendly banter, and Harry couldn't look at Ron for fear of giving away his disappointment.  
  
  
 *******  
  
  
Harry rolled over in his bed, reaching down to scratch his balls at the same time, and nuzzled his head into his pillow. Since the end of the war his dreams had become far more docile, and Voldemort invaded none of them; in short, he was sleeping better than he had in years.  
  
It came as somewhat of a shock, therefore, to meet two big, blue watching eyes as his own eyes flickered in the limbo between wakefulness and sleeping. Yelping in surprise, Harry scrambled back on his mattress and nearly fell out on the other side.  
  
"It's me," Ron said, putting his finger to his lips. "Sorry. I woke you up."  
"How long have you been there?" Harry asked, his voice thick. He reached out and groped for his glasses on the bedside cabinet. He shoved them onto his face and tried desperately to wake up.  
"A while."  
"Right, because that's not creepy _at all_ ," Harry hissed, moving so that his back was against the headboard of his bed, the blanket up to his waist.  
"I couldn't sleep." Ron shrugged, as if that explained everything and excused his behaviour.  
"So you wanted to share the joy?"  
  
Harry stifled a yawn behind his hand and wondered what the time was. He saw Ron perfectly settled in the darkness and knew that he wouldn't be getting rid of him at any point in the near future, so he wandlessly lit the candle in its bracket above him. Orange light drenched Ron a golden hue.  
  
"Your hair," Harry said, in dismay. "Your hair's long again."  
"Oh, yeah." Ron might have blushed but it was too dim to tell. "I just thought that... well. I thought it looked kinda cool, you know... so I grew it again after the night in the bathroom."  
  
Ron's coy look in his direction made Harry's heart pound –his best friend _couldn't_ be admitting that he had grown his hair especially for him, Harry, could he? Harry took several shallow breaths and tried to marshal his thoughts into order.  
  
"It looks good," he croaked. "Does Hermione like it?"  
"She said I looked like a girl." Ron made a face. "But what does it matter, not like her opinion matters any more."  
"Have you officially broken up yet?"  
"Yeah... last night." Ron's gaze dropped to the coverlet. "It's weird, but it doesn't hurt, Harry. There were times last year when I thought I might die if I lost her... like I couldn't cope with the pain of that. But now... now she's gone, she's not mine any more. And it doesn't feel a bit like I thought it would."  
"I thought you'd fall to pieces," Harry confessed apologetically. "I didn't think you'd be able to cope with the idea that she didn't want to be with you."  
"Well, maybe, but... I don't want to be with her either, so..."  
"Is there someone else you _do_ want to be with?" Harry asked, unable to squash the hope which reared in his belly. "Someone you've got your eye on?"  
"Nobody." Ron shook his head. "I just can't be doing with it, Harry. There’s too much going on in my own head without worrying about what's going on in someone else's. Except George's, of course, but then I've not forgiven him for the mermaid joke so he can go and whistle for a while."  
  
Harry snorted and drew his legs up beneath his blankets. He fiddled restlessly with his foot and wondered what Ron would say next.  
  
"That... thing in the bathroom," Ron began. "It wasn't... you're not in love with me, are you Harry?"  
  
 _Yes._  
  
"God, no."  
  
 _Yes, I fucking love you._  
  
"Because... it was just... it was a bit odd. You don't like boys, do you?"  
  
Harry shook his head, not trusting his voice.  
  
"Then why did you kiss me?"  
"Ron, it's too late for this," Harry dismissed, wishing they could have continued it earlier that afternoon in the pub, when he was awake and in control of his words. "Everything's fine. I don't like boys, I'm not in love with you, I was tired when what happened happened, and that's that. Can I go back to sleep now?"  
"If it's as you say, then why are you being weird around me?" Ron challenged.  
"Well I think you're being weird around me, but I'm not suggesting you liked it," Harry pointed out.  
  
They stared at one another.  
  
"Okay," Ron said, uncertainly. "Well, night then, Harry."  
  
He clambered off the bed, causing it to squeak and rock. He tugged the curtains closed behind him. Harry looked at them, his chest swelling with emotion, and immediately wanted Ron to come back.  
  
  
 *******  
  
  
"Fucking hell, was there an explosion at the paper chain factory?" Charlie whistled.  
"LANGUAGE!" Molly scolded, rapping her second eldest son across the back of his hand with her own. "Behave, or there'll be no dinner for you."  
  
Harry watched as Charlie's attractive lips formed a playful pout and he turned his sad eyes onto his mother.  
  
"Away with you. Those'll not work on me after all these years!" Molly glowered, and as Charlie turned, defeated, she swatted him with motherly disdain on his ample backside.  
  
Harry didn't know when he'd started taking note of the lips and bottoms of every single one of Ron's brothers, but he was living in torture. There were redheads and thousands of freckles taunting him. There were blue eyes and brown eyes and pink, manly lips and perfect jaw lines _everywhere_. He was constantly hot, fiddling with the collar on his jumper or t-shirt. His clothes seemed too small.  
  
Molly smacking Charlie's bum looked to be the final straw which might kill him, Harry decided.  
  
"I'm going to go for a lie down!" He announced, jumping to his feet. "Too many mince pies."  
"Oh, Harry, dear, is there anything I can get you? Tea? Warm milk?"  
  
 _Your youngest son spread naked on toast?_  
  
Harry swallowed and shook his head. "Just a bit tired, Molly. I'm fine. Need a nap, is all."  
  
She nodded and gave him a smile before she turned back to peeling potatoes. Harry still loved the Weasleys every bit as much as he had the day they had taken him in at King's Cross Station, but sometimes they were too loud and too much, even for him. He crept through the kitchen and into the adjoining passageway before climbing the stairs. Molly had offered him Percy's old room, seeing as there would be nobody staying in it, but for some reason he had refused a mildly comfortable bed for the hard, unforgiving camp bed he'd been sleeping on since he was twelve. There was something comforting about the squeaks and groans that it made as he turned over at night.  
  
Legs aching, he pushed open the door to Ron's room and inhaled its familiar scent. Overhead, the family ghoul stamped on the floor and Harry smiled to himself. Ron's room felt and smelt like home. He edged around his bed squeezed in the space next to Ron's own, and toed out of his trainers. He made to sit down but Ron's bed almost sang to him, calling out. He didn't even hesitate before sinking down on it, kicking his legs up and stretching out on his back.  
  
He had lain on the bed before, in the summers when he had stayed at The Burrow and had wanted some decent sleep during the day, but it had never excited him like it did at that moment. He was on Ron's bed, where Ron had slept, dreamt and learned to wank. He spread his fingers out and caressed the knitted blanket on top. The yarn was so warn it was permanently floppy, but it was just right.  
  
It took absolutely no persuading for him to roll to one side, tug the covers, and then roll beneath them. He fully buried himself in Ron's aroma, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. He knew what he was doing was dangerous -he could be caught at any moment and he had no idea what he was really thinking. He was Harry and he should never have been in Ron's bed, sniffing the daylights out of the covers because they smelt like their owner, because Harry shouldn't _want_ to smell their owner.  
  
His head beginning to hurt, Harry turned onto his side and pulled his glasses off. He needed sleep most definitely, if only to chase away the utter confusion coursing through him.  
  
  
 *******  
  
  
"Harry, mate, wake up."  
  
A gentle shake rocked his shoulder and Harry grunted in surprise. He looked and saw Ron close to his face, his head cocked to one side. Immediately, all the disorder he had felt before falling asleep came rushing back and he opened his mouth to speak without having words prepared.  
  
"Mum's made dinner," Ron explained. "She wants you to come and eat something."  
  
Ron remained bent over Harry in the bed and his hand remained on his shoulder, burning through Harry's hooded jumper like wildfire.  
  
"You alright?" Ron frowned. "You look fucked up."  
"I am," Harry moaned. "I want..."  
"What do you want?" Ron's eyes narrowed.  
  
Harry fell silent. He didn't know what he wanted.  
  
"Nothin'," he breathed. "Stupid. Sleepy."  
"I know what you want," Ron whispered, leaning closer. "I know what you want because it's been written all over your face since we got home."  
  
Unable to help from gasping as Ron kissed his lips, Harry's mouth fell open and his tongue flicked out before he could stop it. It met the softness of Ron's closed kiss. Long fingers suddenly cupped one cheek and worked into his hair, tilting his head back.  
  
"Harry?"  
"Mm?" Harry moaned into the kiss, slightly confused as to how Ron could sound so clear and kiss at the same time.  
"Harry?"  
"Mmm? God Ron, yes..." Harry dropped his jaw to permit Ron full access to his mouth.  
"Erm... Harry, mate, I think you're dreaming."  
  
Harry's stomach dropped out. He was suddenly wide awake, and Ron was standing by the door, and his lips were not sore from passionately kissing.  
  
 _A fucking dream?_ His mind cried desperately.  
  
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Harry groaned, rolling over and burying his face in Ron's pillow.  
"Dinner's ready," Ron said, somewhat forcefully.  
"Be there in a sec."  
"Harry, what were you dreaming about?" Ron asked, his voice tense.  
  
He was too tired to pretend.  
  
"You."  
  
The door slamming behind Ron was the only sound in the room.


	2. Chapter 2

If Harry thought things had been awkward since Ron's stint as a Merman, it was nothing compared to the silence between them as Christmas Eve gave way to Christmas Day itself, and they were surrounded by people pretending to be happy, because it was the first Christmas after the battle and everyone felt that they should be, and they were completely silent with one another.  
  
It was driving him mental. Every time he found himself alone with Ron the redhead excused himself and when Harry sought him out, Ron was nowhere to be found. It was impossible. Not even twenty-four hours had elapsed since the moment in Ron's bedroom, during which Harry wasn't even really sure what had happened, but Ron was avoiding him and it was making Christmas much harder to deal with.  
  
He drank a deep gulp of his mulled wine and enjoyed the burn in this throat. They were already well into the afternoon and the smell of Christmas dinner had pervaded every corner of the house, making them all salivate. Harry's stomach gave a desperate rumble and he wondered how he could be hungry after the four rounds of bacon sandwiches Molly had given him for breakfast.  
  
Harry shivered, remembering what it had been like to share Ron's tiny bedroom after admitting that he had been dreaming about him. He had laid in his camp bed almost afraid to breathe in case he prompted a reaction from his friend.  
  
Ron, for his part, had spent the night in complete silence also. Usually he rolled about in his bed trying to get comfortable, but here had been no noise from him as Harry had been waiting for sleep to come to him. Only later when Ron had fallen asleep did he start to snore and things had begun to feel normal again.  
  
 _And then we got up and it all fell apart again._  
  
"Dinner!"  
  
Molly's welcome holler called through the bottom level of The Burrow and Harry nearly spilled his wine as he jumped to his feet.  
  
"Alright, Harry, don't kill yourself before you can eat it," Charlie advised, slapping him on the shoulder as he barged past him to get to the table first.  
"More for the rest of us if he does," George pointed out, giving Harry a shove on his back. "Get a move on, Harry."  
  
The kitchen was so warm that when he stepped into it, it was like sinking into a hot bath. Harry happily noticed how the windows were steamed up and there was a beautiful energy in the air. Even though it had been a sad day on many counts -and he had caught Molly sobbing into the turkey mid-morning- there was still something special about it. Harry couldn't put his finger on it. He sat down at his usual place at the table and pulled his chair in, eager to start. The family fell in to place around him, their chatter as loud and boisterous as ever.  
  
"I'm so disappointed that Hermione didn't want to join us today, Ron," Molly said.  
"She's with her mum and dad in Australia having a barbecue on the beach or something."  
"Yes, but, don't you think it's a little upsetting that she didn't want to spend it with you dear?" She reached over and patted Ron's forearm.  
  
Harry saw Ron's chest puff out and looked down at his empty plate.  
  
"Mum, we're not going out any more."  
  
There was a loud crash as Molly dropped the bowl of stuffing she'd been passing to Bill.  
  
"What?" She gasped.  
"Not going out. She dumped me." Ron raised his eyebrows and stared at her; Harry recognised the challenge he was doling out. "But it was a mutual thing. I'm not upset. Charlie, pass the spuds."  
  
There was a slight pause whilst Charlie managed to get his brain in gear and give Ron what he wanted, but when he eventually did Ron smiled at him thankfully. Around them the family came to life again, asking for dishes to be passed and for the wine to be opened and for the salt and pepper and everything else that was normal.  
  
Even Molly recovered herself enough to dab her eyes with a rumpled tissue from the sleeve of her jumper and then charmed the carving knife and fork to carve at the turkey breast in front of them all in the middle of the table. Harry began to eat and tried to relax, knowing that his usual three plates wouldn't go down well if he was tense.  
  
He looked up and caught Ron looking at him. Sapphire eyes flicked along the table to where Ginny sat; she too had been ridiculously quiet since they had left school. Harry had given her a brief kiss that morning beneath the mistletoe in the living room, and she had clenched his waist with her arms almost lovingly, but other than that, they hadn't spoken much and certainly hadn't shared a bed.  
  
 _You're more interested in Ron's bed than his sister's._  
  
Ron was looking at him almost expectantly and Harry wasn't sure what was expected of him –surely Ron didn't expect him to announce that he too had broken up with is girlfriend when she was sitting at the same table, with her family, during Christmas dinner? It was an unthinkable thing to do.  
  
"Charlie! Save the other leg for someone else, you glutton of a child!"  
  
Harry decided instead to watch Molly chastising Charlie over his love of turkey legs, and made a resolution to avoid Ron's gaze for the rest of the meal.  
  
  
 *******  
  
  
"Turkey sandwich, anyone?"  
  
Harry groaned, unable to contemplate the idea of more food after his three platefuls of dinner and double helpings of dessert and a small bit of Christmas pudding, on Molly's insistence. His jeans were painfully cutting into his belly and he knew when he took them off there would be red crease marks in his skin.  
  
"No, I just want a lie down," someone groaned.  
  
Harry nodded in agreement and stretched his legs out in front of him. His socked feet pressed into someone but he didn't even know who, not knowing which body was which in the crammed living room. He jumped when his feet were drawn into a warm lap; when Harry looked he nearly choked. Ron had discreetly drawn his feet beneath the cushion on his lap and had let them settle there. In the packed room with its multitude of bodies, it would go completely unnoticed, but of course not to Harry; he thought his heart was going to jump out of his chest and do a little tap dance on the hearth with joy.  
  
When Ron's thumb stroked down the arch of his left foot he had to repress a longing moan.  
  
"Can I try one of my new prototypes?" George asked tiredly.  
  
They were all so pleased to see him in the house and not locked away in his flat that everyone in the room immediately muttered their asset, even though none of them particularly had the energy to be careful around whatever George was about to unleash upon them all.  
  
"I don't really think I want to experience anything from you," Ron said wearily. The look which passed between him and George told Harry that George had been thoroughly berated for providing the joke bubble bath.  
"You won't get a pretty tail this time, I promise." George smirked and fished a bag out from behind the sofa.  
"What happened?" Charlie asked.  
"Ron turned into a Merman," George offered. "Wish I'd been there to see it."  
"It was pretty magnificent," Harry said, before he could stop himself.  
"Did you get a picture?" Bill asked.  
"Like bollocks he did," Ron swore hotly.  
"Language!" Molly scolded. "Now, George, what was it you had to show us?"  
  
Harry accepted the box which George passed him with trepidation. He shook it.  
  
"They're gifts that you give which, for five whole minutes, give you the gift you want the most. It goes away after that. I've been testing them for a while and they're generally bang on, so... be interesting to see what you make of them."  
"My clever boy," Molly smiled on him; George sent her a wink back, almost looking like his old self again.  
"All at once or one by one?" Charlie enquired, his fingers poised ready to open his box.  
"One by one, you don't know what'll come out."  
  
Charlie grinned and prised open the lid. "Oh, cool!" he cried, as out of the box rolled a baby dragon. It tumbled into his lap and huffed steam at him.  
"Really, Charlie?" Molly said, reprovingly. "I thought we'd been through this hundreds of times."  
  
Charlie just laughed at her, picked his dragon up and departed the living room.  
  
"Should we be worried that he wants privacy?" Ginny asked, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.  
"Probably. Harry, you next!"  
"Why me?" he frowned, looking around at everybody else in the room.  
"I'm nosy, that's why, and I'm grieving. Make a grieving man happy."  
  
Sighing, Harry fiddled with the cardboard of the tiny, sparkling box, and prepared himself for the worst. He dreaded that perhaps a miniature Ron might fall out of it into his lap, which would be highly embarrassing, not to mention the awkward questions it would raise.  
  
However, when he tipped up the box and held out his palm, all that fell out of it was a sprig of mistletoe.  
  
"Oooh, Harry wants to snog someone!" George teased. "Bet I know who!"  
  
 _Bet you fucking don't._  
  
"Uh, Harry?"  
"What?" Harry looked at Ron, but then realised what his friend was getting at.  
  
The mistletoe in his hand had multiplied to three sprigs, and whilst he looked at it, burst into another six.  
  
"Shit!" George cried, as more sprang out of the newly formed plants and landed on the floor. "It's gone wrong, give it here, Harry, I'll chuck it out."  
  
The more seconds that passed, however, the more mistletoe which formed and, even worse, they began flying off at odd angles. Only when one smacked George in the face did he seem to realise just how badly his gift had gone.  
  
"Everyone get out," he called. "It'll tire itself out eventually. We'll never get in the living room until New Year, but, it'll stop... _eventually_..."  
"Can't you break the charm?" Arthur asked, standing up to wade through his new leafy carpet. He reached out to Molly and pulled her out of her seat.  
"Uhhh, not quite prepared for this, Dad!" George made a face and wobbled as he tripped over the old Ottoman, which was buried by mistletoe.  
"Arthur, the fire!" Molly cried, as several sprigs tumbled into the flaming grate and immediately set alight.  
  
Harry remained frozen to the sofa, the incriminating box still in his hand; he glared at it for the trouble it had unleashed.  
  
"Boys, come on!" Arthur called, and that was when Harry realised that he and Ron were the last two people in the room, and Ron, still sitting on the floor with Harry's feet in his lap, was almost buried to the neck in mistletoe.  
"Harry, mistletoe, really?" Ron asked disparagingly. "Couldn't you have just asked me for another kiss?"  
"I didn't want this!" Harry cried wildly, struggling to his feet and reaching out a hand to pull Ron up. "But with you being so bloody weird it’s not surprising the magic got confused."  
"I'm not being weird," Ron declared. " _You're_ being weird."  
"Well I know I'm not being sane." Harry threw his hands up in frustration. "But you walked out on me last night, haven't spoken to me all fucking day and then sit there stroking my feet like you're my..."  
  
He broke off, blushing and unable to finish.  
  
"Like I'm what?" Ron asked, his voice soft. "Fuck." He muttered as he tripped over something in the mistletoe-filled space. "Like I'm your lover? 'Cause the way you've been looking at me, Harry, not breathing when we're trying to sleep in the same room together... Anyone'd think that's what you want."  
"What if I do?" Harry whispered, well aware that the mistletoe was still multiplying and was roughly up to his waist.  
"Then you'd be blimmin' mental," Ron breathed.  
  
Every single nerve in Harry's body sang as Ron grabbed him amidst the mistletoe and crushed their lips together; there was nothing dignified or soft about the meeting. Harry gasped in pain as his teeth cracked into Ron's, but he was distracted by the feeling of a warm hand roaming over his back and sliding down to play at the hem of his new gifted-for-Christmas Weasley jumper. Ron tasted of turkey and stuffing and cranberry sauce and everything that he should, and he smelt even better. Harry felt his glasses slip and become wonky on his face and knew he looked a fool. His glasses always got in the way of the best kisses.  
  
As if reading his mind, Ron reached up and tugged them off, chucking them over his shoulder. Harry wondered if he would ever see again, considering the growing foliage around them and the fact that his glasses were amongst it.  
  
"Better," Ron grunted, dragging him even closer. "Fuck... you're so... nnngh, Harry... You've been teasing my cock since the bathroom and I don't know what I want or what to do or even what to fucking say."  
  
Harry peered through the mist of his poor vision to try and focus on Ron's eyes.  
  
"Don't say anything then," he suggested.  
"Someone has to say something, because this is... this is huge, if it’s even anything."  
"It's definitely something, Ron... I don't know what, but it is."  
  
Ron's breath panted in a steady, hot wash over Harry's face. The repetition kept him calm, he found, giving him an anchor in a sea of mistletoe and awkward but desired experiences.  
  
"I don't know why I want to kiss you," Ron blurted, his cheeks reddening as he spoke. "But I do... and... it's only been since that night in the bathroom so I don't know if George put something in the bubble bath... I don't know, Harry."  
"Stop babbling." Harry giggled nervously. "Just... kiss me again."  
"In the middle of my family's sitting room surrounded by mistletoe?" Ron asked incredulously.  
"Yup."  
  
Taking the initiative, Harry stood on his tiptoes to kiss Ron again, fully on the mouth. They swayed slightly but when Ron stumbled over his own size-thirteen feet and fell backwards, Harry went with him and they landed with a thump.  
  
"I think I've just landed on your glasses," Ron whispered tremulously.  
  
Harry burst out laughing and stuffed his face in Ron's chest.  
  
"I don't think this is ever going to work, do you?" Ron asked playfully. "Interruptions... tails... mistletoe."  
"We could just send George on a really long holiday?" Harry suggested.  
"Or we could go on holiday ourselves," Ron offered.  
"Just disappear. No more school."  
"Hotels though, no more fucking tents."  
  
Harry nodded in agreement. "No more fucking tents. Plush, brilliant hotels with gold taps."  
"Alright mate, you might be minted but I'm not. You've got to be realistic here."  
"I'd pay for it all and spoil you rotten," Harry grinned, and then froze, eyes widening at the way he had just spoken to Ron -in a playful, romantic voice, as he would perhaps have spoken to Ginny.  
  
Ron licked at his lower lip and tucked his chin in to stare at his chest, clearly unsure of how to react.  
  
"Do you like the sound of that?" Harry whispered.  
"If I did?"  
"Why is everything about _ifs_ these days?"  
"Because... this is..."  
"I know," Harry assured him. "I know. It’s not normal and you like girls and I like girls and technically, I'm still going out with your sister."  
  
"Boys? Where are you?" Molly's voice floated out above them and Harry jumped, leaping to his feet.  
"Fell over Ron," he lied, and thrust his hand out to pull Ron up again. "Who fell over first."  
"Well, get out of there before you choke to death on mistletoe," Molly chided. "And come and have some turkey sandwiches."  
"Mum, I think I'm gonna go for a nap instead," Ron said, his voice a far off mumble.  
"Me too," Harry agreed, too quickly.  
  
Molly's gaze landed on them, switching from one boy to the other and then her eyes narrowed.  
  
"Would you like us to wake you?"  
"Yeah, later on," Ron nodded. "Don't want to miss my sarnies completely! I'm just... I'm just tired, Mum."  
"I know you are."  
  
Ron waded his way out of the mistletoe easily with his long legs and didn't wait for Harry before he kissed his mother on the cheek, then disappeared and began to climb the Burrow's stairs. Harry took longer, struggling over the plants and when he finally reached her, Molly was regarding him with blatant suspicion.  
  
"Harry." She reached out and caught his wrist. "Harry, what's going on with you and Ron? You've barely spoken a word since you've been home and then I walk in to find you..."  
  
Wanting the floor to open up and swallow him, Harry looked down at his shoes. "What did you see?"  
"Well... I wasn't expecting to see it, that's for certain... Harry, be careful. Please be careful. More than friendship is at stake here."  
"If you're worried about your daughter, don't be. She's planning to dump me as soon as she can work up the courage to."  
  
Harry felt he had to protect himself, and Ron, against the plump witch who had only ever been kind to him.  
  
"Ron has become so withdrawn since the war... if you can bring him back out again, then good luck to you, Harry. But don't hurt yourself. Maybe you should be alone for a time? To get over what's happened?"  
"I don't need relationship advice," he ground out.  
"Well I don't think you should go back to school with things like this."  
"Ron isn't going back to school anyway."  
  
Shock sliced through her expression and Harry could have kicked himself for what he had just given away.  
  
"And... maybe... maybe I'm not either," Harry muttered, staring at the wall behind her. "Ron'll be waiting for me. I should go."  
  
He stepped around her and kept on walking, knowing that he wouldn't have stopped even if she had called out to him. He left the rumble of noise below him on the lower floor and climbed until he reached the top landing, where Ron's room was, and there was nothing standing between him and something new, and exciting, and more amazing kisses with his best friend.  
  
He stared at the door, marked with childish proclamations of ownership and a nameplate. There were marks on the door frame which showed Ron's height as he had grown up. The sight made Harry's throat thicken, seeing the proof of love and care with which Ron had been lavished growing up, and of which he, Harry, had received none. It was intimidating. Ron had been cherished, had his hair washed and brushed and kissed. He had been held to his mother's chest and rocked when he was upset. He had experienced devotion.  
  
Harry could only think of three people who had ever been as devoted to _him_ , and one of them was Ron himself. Suddenly he felt sick and unprepared; what was he doing, assuming he could compete with the sort of love that Ron would need and expect? Furthermore, what had he ever been thinking with Ginny? How could he have given her the same? Maybe that was why they had failed, he wondered, and whether he and Ron would suffer the same fate should they try.  
  
Unable to stand the creeping feelings of vulnerability which took hold of his body, his head began to ache, and he realised that he'd left his glasses downstairs in the mistletoe. He turned and put his hand on the banister, ready to flee, blind as he was.  
  
 _What the fuck was I thinking?_  
  
"Harry?" Ron's voice called out from his room.  
"I'm... I'll see you later," Harry said, voice trembling.  
  
He made it only two steps down before Ron caught hold of the back of his jumper and pulled him all the way into his room, where he slammed the door and swung Harry onto his bed. Only after locking the door did Ron follow and kneel gently onto the mattress.  
  
"Hey..." he whispered, seeing Harry's recent but very real distress. "What's wrong? Am I that bad at snogging?"  
"No, you're good." Harry shook his head. "I'm just stupid, Ron."  
"I've been telling you that for years." Ron rolled his eyes. "What's really the matter?"  
"I'm..." the word was on the tip of Harry's tongue, but he was terrified to say it.  
"Scared?" Ron guessed for him.  
  
Harry didn't need to nod in confirmation. He knew that Ron knew.  
  
"I'm shitting myself," Ron breathed. "Absolutely bricking it. I could do with changing my pants, truth be told."  
  
Unable to smile, even at Ron's friendly crassness, Harry looked down at the bed covers. Ron reached out and took his hand.  
  
"I don't want to go back to Hogwarts without you," Harry admitted. "It's just... it'll be like all those times we had stupid fights and didn't talk to one another. I don't want to live like that for the rest of the year."  
  
Ron stared at him.  
  
"But... I don't think I'm ready to leave it just yet. I know this is going to sound so... pathetic." Harry paused to laugh at himself. "But Hogwarts is the only home I've ever really had. I used to want to stay there in the summer holidays because I'd have to go to the Dursleys before I was allowed to come here... and Hogwarts was the only constant. I don't know what I'm going to do."  
"I do." Ron shrugged. "You're going to go back to Hogwarts."  
"Have you gone deaf?"  
"No," Ron muttered. "I'm just... read between the lines, Harry."  
"What lines?"  
"The lines which are saying that if you can't go back to Hogwarts without me, and then you can't leave it because you love it, and I'm saying you're going to go back to Hogwarts..." Ron urged him on with raised eyebrows.  
  
Harry stared at him, nonplussed.  
  
"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Harry!" Ron snapped. "I'll fucking come back for you. I'll suffer the rest of bloody Charms and Transfiguration and sodding _counselling_ for you, if you really want me to. I won't even moan about it that much."  
  
Harry stared at him, unaware that his mouth was open with surprise.  
  
"You'd really do that for me?"  
"Well, going back to school won't be the worst thing I've ever done for you," Ron pointed out. "Eating Hermione's burnt trout tops the list, mate."  
  
Unable to believe his luck, Harry laughed, loving the way that Ron's hand squeezed around his own.  
  
"I don't deserve you," he said, sounding as numb as he felt. "Don't deserve the way you give me whatever I need... what I want. You want to leave school, Ron... and you're giving that up for me."  
"I wanted to leave because it felt like there was nothing there for me. I could feel it dying between me and Hermione... and I hated my lessons... and those fucking counselling sessions where they just want me to break down and cry but I can't do that because if I do that'll be it, I'll fall apart and I can't fall apart, because I'll never be put back together again."  
"But that's not good for you."  
  
They fell into silence and looked at Ron's holey bed linen.  
  
"And I think your mum has guessed... well, what might be going on. She just told me to be careful and that there's more than friendship at stake here."  
"There is, but we both know that, Harry."  
  
He reached forward and hooked his arm around Harry's shoulders and pulled him close. Harry went and happily leant into his body. He nuzzled into Ron's throat and closed his eyes.  
  
"It just feels right." Ron's sentence wasn't a question; it was a statement, and one that Harry wholly agreed with. "And now... now I can protect you like I always wanted to."  
"Always wanted to?"  
"Always."  
  
  
 *******  
  
  
Confused, Harry lifted his head from his pillow, tasting sourness in his mouth. He immediately wanted a drink. He blinked in the soft light coming through the window, unfiltered, because the curtains had not been pulled.  
  
That was when he realised that he was too high up to be on his camp bed, and there was a very warm, pliant body cuddled into his own. Harry lowered his eyes and caught sight of flaming red hair, messy with sleep, and let his gaze drift over Ron's sleeping face. His mouth was open with the dampness of drool at the far corner.  
  
They had seemingly spent the night in each other's arms, and if anyone had come through the door and seen them asleep, they would have been none the wiser as to their presence. Harry tried to shift without disturbing his bedmate, but the old bed creaked beneath his weight and his motion and Ron stirred.  
  
"Har?"  
"Mm..." Harry moaned, dropping his head back down to look into Ron's eyes at the same level. "I s'pose they didn't come and wake us up."  
"Or they tried and ran away screaming," Ron suggested.  
  
Harry watched with a stirring feeling in the pit of his belly as Ron turned onto his back and stretched, throwing his arms up over his head and pointing his feet.  
  
"How are you so... long?" Harry finished lamely, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.  
  
Ron just laughed and relaxed again, turning his chin towards Harry to look at him.  
  
"Dunno about you, but that was the best kip I've had in bloody weeks. Months, even."  
"Mm," Harry hummed in agreement. "Feel like I've actually been to sleep, for starters."  
  
He didn't know why he had to, but couldn't resist the urge, so Harry lifted his hand and placed his palm on the flat of Ron's stomach, which was warm and soft to his touch. He glanced at him to check that it was okay, but Ron was smiling sleepily back at him, permitting it, welcoming it. Experimentally, Harry rubbed in a slow, sensual circle and enjoyed the way it rumpled Ron's already creased t-shirt.  
  
"We slept in our clothes," he muttered. "Your mum will do her nut if she finds out."  
"Of all the things she could see, you're worried about her reaction to us sleeping in our clothes?" Ron snorted.  
"Fair point."  
  
Ron laughed louder and shuffled closer to Harry on the mattress.  
  
"Happy Boxing Day."  
"Can you wish someone a happy Boxing Day?"  
"Well, fuck off, I just did."  
  
They looked at each other and laughed again.  
  
"What time is it?" Harry yawned. He paused for a moment before nuzzling into Ron's shoulder.  
"Dunno, but I just want to sleep and sleep and sleep... as long as you're here," Ron added, rather coyly.  
  
Harry hid his smile in Ron's throat. He held his breath as Ron's arm came up around his back and held onto him, pulling him closer. Harry wriggled closer and swallowed.  
  
"So tense..." Ron whispered. "Do I make you nervous, Harry?"  
"Yeah."  
"You make me nervous too... but in a good way. I think."  
"You think?" Harry laughed.  
"I know," Ron corrected gently.  
  
Harry allowed Ron's hand to guide his chin until it tilted upwards and his lips were waiting, exposed, ready for a kiss which he hoped that Ron was going to give him. When it came, it was soft and warm and full of morning breath. Unable to help from moaning into it, Harry pressed his body hard against Ron's side. It was only when his hardened cock met the other boy's hipbone that he realised his mistake. Immediately he pulled back, his face glowing with shame.  
  
"Sorry," he mumbled, looking anywhere but at Ron.  
"Why?" Ron questioned. "I was kissing you. We're... doing this..." Ron stumbled around the word 'cuddle', as if he couldn't say it. "And now you're... hard... and... it felt really good."  
  
A loud exhale of breath escaped Harry's mouth at the wrong time and he felt even worse.  
  
"I'm really bad at this," he moaned apologetically.  
"So am I," Ron promised. "But for the first time, Harry, I don't care that I'm making a twat out of myself, because I know you're not going to care."  
  
When Harry finally dared to peer at Ron again, the redhead was looking at him with such earnestness that it was hard to remain so closed to him. Harry sighed and put their foreheads together, daring to press forward again with his body. If Ron could be so strong, he decided, then so could he.  
  
Ron made a throaty moaning sound in response, and so Harry did it again. Ron turned onto his side and, placing his hands in the small of Harry's back, rocked his own hips forward.  
  
"Oh, Godric!" Ron moaned, seemingly unable to hold back. His head tipped backwards. Harry watched his hair fall from his face, but his eyes closed involuntarily when Ron bucked against him again.  
  
The motion repeated, over and over, until Harry was gasping at the air, sparks of light pricking the darkness of his closed eyelids, and his mouth was gaping, desperate to be touching and tasting. Somehow he managed to find Ron's mouth without looking and then, as they kissed, and the sounds of rough breath and moans and little cries of pleasure deep within their throats sank into their ears, Harry wondered whether he would make it through alive.  
  
It seemed dramatic, perhaps. The idea flashed briefly in his mind and then evaporated in a puff of smoke as Ron ground into him again. He had never felt anything as good as Ron writhing against him.  
  
"Harry... close..."  
"Good!" Harry grunted, knowing that his own restraint was fast disappearing. The stocks took a further dive when he noticed the delicious flush creeping up from the neck of Ron's t-shirt and that the tips of his ears were also red, just like when the man got angry.  
  
Ron's tongue twisted with his own and he began to feel it, the unsubtle jerking of Ron's long body, the tension in his back and thighs. It sparked it within his own bones and as Ron's hips bucked erratically and then froze, it was all over for both of them.  
  
Harry wished he'd been able to see more of Ron reaching his end. He felt him shivering hard as he mirrored the damp stickiness in Harry's own underwear. They clung to one another and still Ron trembled, his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth open in a loose shape of passion.  
  
He was too trounced by his own climax to be able to look in much more detail and it only left him hungry for more, Harry found, as his body began to relax and he allowed himself to sink into the mattress.  
  
Ron moaned tiredly and rolled over to flop over Harry's chest.  
  
"Morning," he muttered weakly. "Amazing... morning... Merlin's balls..."  
"Shh," Harry whispered, unable to keep a smile from twisting his lips as he reached up to pat at Ron's sleep-tousled hair. "Shh. It's okay."  
  
Ron fell to silence and Harry focussed on the sounds of their breathing. He had just started to drift off when he heard footsteps on the landing. Seconds later there was a loud, unkind fist thudding on the bedroom door.  
  
"Get up, you lazy arseholes. Breakfast then Quidditch. UP, NOW!" Charlie bellowed through the wood.  
"I think he's lining up to be the next Mum," Ron muttered into Harry's throat.  
  
Harry laughed.  
  
  
 *******  
  
  
"Ronald, sit down, we need to talk."  
  
Harry froze midway through his mouthful of toast and visually searched for a bolt hole. Ron had been fishing more pumpkin juice from the larder when Molly had collared him and Harry was sure that he knew what was coming.  
  
"A little birdy has told me that you don't plan on going back to Hogwarts," Molly said, her tone stern.  
"Don't know who that was," Ron said brightly. "Because I'm going back just like always. Well. Apart from last year but that doesn't really count, does it?"  
"You're sure?" Molly asked, needling him, trying to push him into admitting a lie.  
  
Harry began to chew through his toast with lightening speed to be able to escape her and the awkward conversation.  
  
"Where else am I going to go?" Ron laughed, sitting back down at the kitchen table and pouring himself some of the juice he had retrieved. "Not like I can stick around here, is it?"  
"Well... quite. But my informant was quite... insistent..."  
"Well maybe something's happened since then which has changed my mind."  
  
Ron refused to rise to her bait and Harry saw that he was even smiling down at his plate of bacon and eggs.  
  
"Harry, do you have anything to say about this?" Molly asked.  
"Nope," Harry mumbled through his toast. "I think it's great that Ron's coming back."  
  
He met her eye as she stared at him. Her expression was completely unreadable but Harry still found that he blushed beneath it: she was Ron's mother, the boy he had rocked himself to completion against that very morning had come out of her womb, and Harry had pleasured him. It was a surreal thought.  
  
It was only then that Harry realised how woefully inept he was at dealing with mothers, and their tricks, and even worse, their expectations. He wondered what his own mother might have thought if she could see the path he was heading down, a path of finding contentment with another boy and his best friend, nonetheless.  
  
"Boys..." the word was full of force and determination and they both waited; Ron eventually looked up from his breakfast. Harry saw the fight disappear from Molly's expression and breathed a sigh of relief. "Boys... just please. Please be careful with... with everything. Each other. Ginny. Your hearts. Please."  
"Don't be silly, mum," Ron dismissed. "We're fine. Everything's fine."  
"Make sure it stays that way."  
  
She left the kitchen. Harry listened to the sounds of her slippers scuffing into the sitting room. He glanced at Ron, who was looking at his plate again.  
  
Harry extended his hand across the table and placed it palm-up on the wood. It comforted him that there were only the necessary seconds before Ron covered it with his own and held on to it with a tight grip.  
  
"What do we do?" Harry whispered, looking to the doorway to check that they were not being observed.  
"I don't know," Ron replied, sounding hopeless. "Mum knows. That means Dad'll know soon... and then... I don't know, Harry. But I think if you're going to end things with Ginny... you should do it soon enough. Okay?"  
  
Harry's stomach turned at the thought.  
  
"But you don't have to... you know... If you don't want to," Ron went on, rushing over his words with embarrassment. "If you want to stay with her, then we can just forget that this ever happened. It'll be okay, Harry. I'll find someone else."  
"Like fuck you will," Harry swore. "Like I'm going to let you be with anyone else."  
"If you can't have me nobody else can?" Ron asked, disbelievingly.  
  
Harry nodded without hesitation.  
  
"Well... fuck," Ron breathed, his eyes widening in surprise. "Didn't know you felt that... that strongly about it... me."  
"You," Harry confirmed.  
  
Ron exhaled and Harry pulled his hand back.  
  
"I'll see you later," he said, getting to his feet. "I have to do something."  
"Good luck," Ron offered, not needing to ask which task Harry was undertaking. "I'll be out having a walk... I think. Might go down to the village... need to stretch my muscles before Quidditch later."  
  
Harry nodded and paused at the doorway.  
  
"Ron, are you alright?"  
"Yeah... it's just... it's hard to get used to someone being so... determined, I guess, to have me. It just happened with Hermione. You're about to make a really massive step and..." Ron shrugged his shoulders.  
  
Harry knew what he was trying to say -it was Ron's old habit of self-doubt and unhappiness creeping through.  
  
"I'll find you," Harry promised. "Try and make it easy for me, eh?"  
  
Ron nodded.  
  
  
 *******  
  
  
Harry shivered and rubbed his hands together through his gloves. His coat was only just thick enough to keep him warm against the chill, but his search for Ron had proved fruitless. He had been to the village pub and enquired after him, but none of the punters nor the staff had seen the lanky boy with red hair who had grown up trying to buy drinks under age with his brothers.  
  
He had just started to wonder whether Ron had given up and gone home when he caught a flash of red out of his eye. His mouth fell open. Ron had just walked into the village church.  
  
"Can you get any weirder?" he muttered to himself beneath his breath, setting off.  
  
He slipped inside the heavy front doors and inhaled his first lungful of the dry, odd scent which seemed to have filled every church that he had ever been in, which were mainly those of school services at Christmas and Easter when he had lived with the Dursleys. He stepped into the aisle and saw Ron sitting mid-way up in the pews, his shoulders slumped but his head raised.  
  
"Hey," he called, striding up to reach the end of his bench. "There you are. I thought you'd gone back without me. Told you I'd come for you."  
  
He threw himself down next to Ron and let out a sigh of relief. He reached up and tugged at his scarf.  
  
"Nearly time for Quidditch," he said quietly. "So we should probably go home soon before Charlie comes and finds us again."  
  
Again, Ron didn't answer and Harry took a second to glance at him. He noticed red-rimmed eyes and heard a sniff.  
  
"Have you been crying?" he blurted, alarmed. He had rarely seen Ron cry, only at Fred's funeral, but never afterwards. "What's the matter?"  
"I'm fine, Harry," Ron said, his voice hoarse. "Just... thinking about some things I haven't let myself think about before. That's all."  
"Do you want to talk about it?"  
"Not particularly, but if you're not going to leave me alone then we can just to shut you up."  
  
Harry couldn't help but smile as Ron's eyes rolled to look at him and he grimaced.  
  
"Can I ask you one tiny thing though?" Harry asked, unable to fight back his curiosity.  
"Yeah."  
"Why are you in here? You're a wizard."  
"Thanks, I wondered what all that funny shit that kept happening to me was."  
"Ron! You can't swear in a church!" Harry hissed, looking around them nervously.  
"I don't believe in their God, and there's nobody here to get angry with me. The vicar just leaves it open because nobody ever does horrible things in Ottery St. Catchpole."  
"But why are you here?"  
  
Ron didn't answer for a long time, but when he did, it was in the same low voice as he had spoken the first time.  
  
"I just find it peaceful, I s'pose. Even if I don't believe in it, people find peace and hope in this building. So... it's like it lingers... and I can take from that. Greedy, I know. But then that's me."  
  
Harry frowned at Ron's brooding expression.  
  
"Why so down on yourself all of a sudden?" Harry asked, dropping his hand between their legs so that the backs of his knuckles brushed against Ron's thigh. "You know I think you're great."  
"But I never have," Ron pointed out. "Never liked myself, never thought I was anything special even though I really wanted to be. I always wanted to be someone."  
"And you are," Harry pointed out. "You're as much of a war hero as I am, or Hermione is. You're special, Ron, to lots of people."  
"Am I special to you, Harry?" Ron whispered.  
"Of course you were. You were special from day one."  
  
Harry wanted to lean closer, to press a loving kiss to his cheek, but he was all too aware of their surroundings. Instead he picked up Ron's hand and pulled it to rest between his own in his lap.  
  
"You weren't afraid of who I was. You knew more of my past than even I did and yet you weren't afraid of me. I was famous. You could have turned against me immediately because I had money and you had none. But you didn't. You were my best friend. My first _ever_ best friend."  
"Alright, don't get all birthday-card-mushy," Ron muttered.  
  
Harry saw his smile, however, as Ron turned to look at the mural painted on the church wall.  
  
"You need to cheer up," Harry said, nudging Ron's shoulder with his own. "It's Christmas. Everyone's doing so well... even though we shouldn't be. Don't lose it now."  
"Everyone says I've been withdrawn... its because I didn't want anyone to see what I was going through inside."  
"I know. Strong and silent type. I kind of like that."  
"Do you now?" Ron laughed roughly, sniffing mid question.  
"I do," Harry assured him. "I think I also like tattoos and piercings."  
"You've been eyeing up Charlie, I see." Ron's smile became wry.  
"Well... it's hard not to look at him when he's got so many muscles and ink and... when his nipple stands out all pierced under his t-shirt."  
"Harry, you're killing me here."  
"But I want you more!" Harry cried, so loudly that his proclamation echoed off the church walls.  
  
Ron sniggered slightly before falling silent, looking forward towards the altar.  
  
"Can I ask you something?"  
"Another thing? Maybe you're the greedy one, Harry," Ron teased.  
"Not about you... about me. I wondered... will you come to Godric's Hollow with me? Hermione's seen it... but you haven't. And I want to share it with you. If you want to, that is."  
"Do you know what my biggest regret is, other than leaving, from the war?" Ron asked.  
"Not washing your sleeping bag more," Harry guessed.  
"Not being with you when you went back to face your past."  
"Oh."  
  
Ron simply nodded in response. Harry squeezed his hand, hating the tightness which was building in his throat. Ron squeezed back and the tightness doubled.  
  
"How'd it go with Ginny?" Ron asked.  
"Relatively painless. I cried. She didn't."  
"Typically Gin." Ron laughed. "But things were... okay?"  
"As okay as they could be, I s'pose. I didn't mention you. I think that we need to be... careful. Secretive. I don't think any of us would benefit from this being known at the minute... and I think we need to figure out what's actually going on."  
"I know I like you holding my hand," Ron offered helpfully. "And even though I'm pretty gutted you seem so happy to look at Charlie, I like what we... what we did this morning."  
"You can't talk about that in a church," Harry ruled.  
"I didn't say exactly _what_ we did!"  
  
They both broke into laughter and then hushed at the same time, eager not to be noticed.  
  
"So what d'you reckon?" Ron smiled, leaning against the pew's back. "Would I look good with a tattoo? Or a piercing?"  
"Both," Harry grinned. "Please."  
"Definitely greedy."  
"Shut up or I'll make you practice walking up and down the aisle with me," Harry threatened.  
"Practice for what?" Ron laughed. "Because I don't think we can get married in here, Harry."  
"Whoa, I was just talking about walking in a straight line, not marriage!"  
"Liar." Ron grinned and ducked his head before looking to his left, his eyes appraising Harry so very happily that it made his chest burn.  
  
"I want to kiss you," Harry admitted. "So badly."  
"Kiss me then," Ron challenged. "We're alone."  
  
He had already leant in before Harry could do so himself; Ron kissed him, bringing his warm lips and beautiful scent to Harry's rescue.  
  
The noises seemed so loud in the vaulted building. Harry touched his hand to Ron's chest and left it there.  
  
"I want to do that forever," Ron admitted, pulling back with a boyish grin on his face.  
"Definitely possible," Harry promised. "As long as we keep George out of the way and don't accept any more gifts."  
"Or bubble bath," Ron grouched.  
"I like to think that it was the bubble bath that started us off."  
"Well when we get back to Hogwarts, we'll go back to the Prefect's Bathroom with some proper bubble bath... and see how far it gets us this time, eh?" Ron smirked.  
  
Harry just grinned at him in response.


End file.
